


the altar is my hips

by Jade_Masquerade



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: F/M, TLKFFF2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25082065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Masquerade/pseuds/Jade_Masquerade
Summary: Money, power, reputation, their own pleasure—the whims of men are endless, Eadith has found, and this has never been about her… until now.
Relationships: Eadith/Finan (The Last Kingdom)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 57
Collections: The Last Kingdom Fanfic Fest





	the altar is my hips

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "False God" by Taylor Swift 
> 
> Written for TLK FanficFest 2020 for the prompt "it was never about pleasure for Eadith until Finan"

Eadith has been many things. 

She’s been the daughter of an ealdorman and a disgrace, called a lady and a whore, and served as a sister and a spy. 

She’s been pushed out of her home and has stood at the side of a self-declared king, stripped naked and been draped in jewelry and silks and velvet, treated as property and played nursemaid to a princess. 

She’s been told to shut up and look pretty, commanded to call men all sorts of names abed and ordered to simply lay there, pushed down and taken from behind. 

But never, ever has she done this, and for someone who has seen so much and been so many places, Eadith can’t believe it’s _this_ of all things that suddenly makes her nervous. 

Nervous, but curious, and— 

“ _Oh,_ ” she sighs when she doesn’t have words for this anymore, doesn’t think anymore as Finan’s tongue glides between her legs. 

It’s a far cry from the fantasies she had as a girl about silly things, of handsome lords and a castle of her own, of an elaborate courtship and true love, dreams that had been long ago snuffed out by the men who’d used her for their own gain, their own pleasure, but this is better than she could have imagined then in all her naivety. Money, power, reputation, their whims are endless; it’s never been about _her_ … until now. 

This isn’t even a proper chair she sits upon, rather an overturned barrel of some kind, yet she finds that fitting because there is nothing proper about this at all. She’d caught a glimpse of a bed in the corner, the only real furniture, when Finan had thrown open the door and led her inside, but she had tried to push that thought away as he’d pressed her up against the door and kissed her, and it had been completely and swiftly driven from her mind once he’d lifted her skirts and sunk to his knees, crossing her ankles behind his back. 

Whatever it is, she’d be rendered boneless without its sturdy frame to hold her up, and Eadith grips the edge as she leans back, her body arching beneath his touch. She’d thought his beard would tickle, but instead it’s a delicious scrape against her soft skin, a contrast between the smooth heat of his tongue and its rugged coarseness. 

Finan stops her every time she tries to reach for him, and maybe it’s the strangeness of that more than anything that confuses her about this. 

“Just enjoy, all right?” he says, his voice muffled from where he kneels between her legs, but she swears it’s deeper too, raspier, and the sound sends another burst of heat spiking through her. 

She reaches down then to touch the parts of him he’ll allow, her hand in his hair, palms sliding over the muscles of his shoulders, fingernails digging into his back as his mouth passes over her again and again, the pressure just right, just where she wants it. She’s wetter than she’s ever been in her life, she’s aware of that much, even with his hot, slick tongue against her cunt, and he flicks it almost lazily now while it makes her feel anything but. 

Eadith was glad he’d waited til now for this, whatever it was called, with the way her chest heaved and her body writhed; any sooner and she would have been in agony with her battered ribs. God knew she wanted more than the stolen kisses they’d shared along the road from Winchester to Coccham, hidden in forests and behind barns and the shadowed corners of taverns, but the thought that he’d been sweet enough to wait was as foreign as the pleasure slinking down her spine. 

Those kisses had only been teasing, she knows now, a taste of what he’s really capable of, and that knowledge makes her greedy, and she wants more, all of it, all of him. He seems to read her mind, something that seems to be becoming all too frequent nowadays, or maybe it’s just in the way she cants her hips, or how she tugs at his hair, spurred on by her desire. Either way, his palm slides to the inside of her thigh to join his mouth and pushes her legs further apart. His hand is large and warm, his touch firm but gentle, and she can’t help the squeak that escapes her as his fingers find the spot just above her slit. 

Eadith attempts to tame her voice—Coccham is not large, and the feast to celebrate their lord’s homecoming still continues on despite their absence. For Finan to leave while the ale still flowed, to ask if she’d like help to change her bandages when they both knew full well it had been days, thankfully, since she’d needed that… Well, that had been also something of a revelation to her, too. Though she knows the others suspect, it’ll still be embarrassing come tomorrow’s breakfast to face Sihtric’s sly smiles and Osferth blushing and Uhtred’s brusque japes if they somehow managed to overhear the kinds of obscene noises that threaten to spill from her throat. 

Finan seems to have no such qualms, however, and to be determined to do the opposite instead. She claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her moans, and he reaches up with his free one and eases it away, and they continue back and forth until she laughs, the sound breathless and airy, and she can’t remember feeling this way with a man before either, so flippant and carefree and liberated. 

He relents and presses a finger into her, and she lets herself gasp at that, and the sound is utterly wanton in the way it seems to hang in the air in this small space, yet it makes this feel even better somehow. Other men had seemed not to care if she did little more than lie there or make any noise at all, and in fact, many appeared to prefer it that way, but Finan seems encouraged by it, groaning in response when she does, the vibration reverberating through her sensitive flesh. 

“Yes,” she moans next, and that’s even better than better, especially when it prompts him to slide another finger into her. She only wishes she could hear him too, the sound of that brogue she’s come to crave, how sometimes it drops to a growl or a deep rumble when he whispers in her ear, and the ribald things he says with it, if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. 

“Don’t stop,” she pants in a desperate voice that doesn’t even sound like her own, so full of passion and want, not at all like the feigned pleading and praising she’s used to providing to make her partners feel sated and pleased with themselves when they’d done so little for her. 

That’s all a world away from this, though. If anything hurts now, it’s because she’s too aroused, too wound up, with the way she burns for his touch and how she’s clenched tight around his fingers, the fabric of her skirts cloying around her hips and the bodice of her dress too taut across her breasts. She feels her legs tremble, and her breath catch, but there’s no hesitation, no worry anymore. 

It’s all pleasure, only pleasure, sheer and sharp, divine and irresistible, and he curls his fingers and then it’s shuddering through her as she peaks, fluttering around his hand and against his mouth.

“That ought to help with the pain,” Finan says, his voice serious but his mouth curving in a smirk, his mouth that had just been on her, his mouth that he now uses to lick clean his fingers. 

He rises and kisses her, and Eadith tastes herself on him, tangy and slightly sweet. 

“Of course, I’ve always known wine to do the same,” he adds hastily, looking uncertain for all his eagerness before, glancing at the closed door from which behind they can hear the revelry continuing on late into the night, as though Eadith might have thought that would have been a better use of her time instead. “Or it might have to wait til morning, but there’s a field a short ride away full of poppy, too, and Ealhswith makes a strong poppyseed tea—”

“No.” Eadith grabs his hand, and now he seems more than content to let her spear her fingers through his beard, work the laces out of his tunic, run her hands down his chest, and she makes sure he catches her eye when she smiles. “This is perfect.”


End file.
